


Firedance

by strititty



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Crockertier, Dubious Consent, F/M, Grimbark, Sibling Incest, Urban Fantasy, Voyeurism, poor alpha dave didn't sign up for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-16 04:04:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20189746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strititty/pseuds/strititty
Summary: Witches are wild, man. Witches are wild and you really wish this particular witch hadn't paired up with a werewolf to make your life perfectly miserable for a night.





	Firedance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragoneisha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragoneisha/gifts).

> here it is! a little rough around the edges, but still enjoyable, hopefully <3

Witches are inherently more terrifying than they have any right to be.

Rose, for instance, is a witch, and you’re pretty sure if you ended up on her bad side - her really bad side, not just ‘okay dave you’re in the doghouse now’ side - she’d crush you like the tiny fucking insect you are with one sensible wedge heel and not even touch her magic needles. Don’t need to knit your fate, blast you with magic, or stab you in the eye. Just step on you, man, step on you.

The Condesce is another witch. You’ve never met her in person, and if you do and you’re alone… you expect you’ll die. You’ll put up a fight, sure. You’re a Strider. You fuckers don’t just roll over and die, and you’ve been training the blade too long not to get at least a good nick in or two. 

But you? You alone, without your sister and her impossible wit and sharp tongue and the dark magicks leaking from her pores? 

God, you’d be fucked.

Your name is Dave Strider, motherfucking rebel in a sprawling metropolis, and you’re only human. Most of the time, being human is only as dangerous as reality makes it. That is to say, stupidly dangerous, but nothing’s out to kill you more than anything else. You, though. You’re a special case. You know about the supernatural underworkings of the city, and you know who rules them with an iron fist, a golden trident, and a headful of hair so long and wild that the world could probably hide in it.

Knowing what’s superimposed under your mortal reality when you don’t have any magic is terrifying. Knowing what’s superimposed under reality is ruled by a woman who finds new ways to torture people for shits and giggles is unbearable. Starting a rebellion with your magical sister so that she can walk those superimposed streets free and unmolested is one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done. 

Seeing Rose with her grimdark magic and the tongues you can half-understand at this point and the prim straightness of her back and the gothic black she paints her lips and nails and her violet headband and… and. Well. You love your sister very much and that’s really all there is to say on the matter. 

It makes learning to fight easy, and swords are pretty cool, so at least there’s that. You’ve been practicing since Rose dunked herself face first into witchery, which is to say: since you were thirteen or so.

What with being thirty at the moment, you like to think you’re decently talented.

Sometimes, you just get the short end of the stick.

See: now.

You woke up this morning to find a business card pinned to your bedroom door. You didn’t even see it until you were coming back from the Usual Morning Piss, but your gut drops straight to the other side of the earth and out into the atmosphere. Maybe even out of orbit, that’s how fast it goes. You’re not equipped to handle this shit.

Which isn’t true. You’re totally equipped to handle this shit, there’s a reason you keep a bitchin’ sword hanging around and you’ve practiced so much and you wear these fucking True Sight shades Rose enchanted for you that make everything even darker than they should be and yet clearer than they ever have been. You don’t know how you would even go out without them. Your eyes are weaker by themselves, now. That’s the price of power.

A sword, some magic shades, and enough mundane money to buy a fair chunk of the city. That’s you, and still you’re terrified of this calling card before you even fucking read it. It’s probably the traces of the Condesce’s magic embedded in it like fuschia waves and red circuitry. You don’t need to read it to see that spreading across your door.

Mr. Strider, We are writing to inform you that Her Imperious Condescension has taken note of your activity, and is not pleased. You are being given one chance to apologize. Pledge allegiance to her and obey, or face the consequences.

And, written across the corner in far less professional print:

the consequences are we’ll tear your face off!!!

“Yeah, thanks for that,” you mutter to the second author. “No idea what some batterbitch’s minion would mean by ‘consequences,’ really, just no idea. What ‘m I, twelve? No inferences in Mrs. Smith’s fuckin’ English class. We’re third grade here. Blatant statements or nothin’.”

...This is stupid, and you’re going to throw up in your own shoes.

Fine. Fine! 

You guess you’re about to do something stupid, because there’s no way you’ll bend the knee to the Condesce in--wait, your computer is dinging at you.

tentacleTherapist [TT] began PESTERing turntechGodhead [TG]

TT: Whatever you’re thinking of doing, I would kindly suggest that you not, brother mine.

TG: wow really i didnt even do anything yet

TG: rose this is some next level magic bullshit youre pulling on me here

TT: You’re aware that I have clairvoyant abilities on some level, as you have been since my magicks first came to fruition.

TT: That is to say: why are you surprised, Dave?

TG: you got me there

TG: i dont know

TG: i guess i just expected some pretense of being normal for one second

TG: dunno why anyone with our lives would ever think that

TG: its like looking at a jumanji ripoff and expecting everything to not go to shit as soon as someone rolls the dice

TG: stupid and wrong

TT: Precisely.

TT: Likewise, you are about to make a choice that will lead you down an equally regrettable path.

TG: your witch shit is still terrifying

TG: you know that right

TT: I am aware, yes.

TG: ok cool just as long as you know

TG: im gonna do it anyway

TT: Yes, I thought you might say that.

TT: If I tell you that the likely outcome of your decision will be death, would that change your mind?

TG: you tell me

TG: i know youre dying to

TT: No. It will not.

TT: Dave, you are an incredibly frustrating individual.

TG: yeah youve mentioned that a few times in the past thirty years

TG: so anyway yeah off to try and kill the batterwitch

TG: see you tomorrow

TT: Dave.

TG: what

TT: When they come for you, don’t resist.

TG: what

TG: oh right nevermind its limited sight because magic is stupid

TG: sure you get unimaginable bullshit powers 

TG: but also you can only barely control them because why would you give anyone the satisfaction

TG: why would they give anyone the satisfaction either

TG: goddamn fuckin idiotic is what it is

TT: Y' ilyaa cahf mgepogor would nafl ah lloigehye llll ymg' aimgr'luhh.

TG: yeah yeah they can suck my chode

TG: see look at that im already fucking with allpowerful gods

TG: ive got this in the bag

TG: i got so much of this in the bag that that shits overflowing

TG: nobodys got more shit in the bag than me

TG: so yeah

TG: see you on the other side 

TT: Dave

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased PESTERing tentacleTherapist [TT]

TT: Mgvulgtlagln.

==>

You turn the corner sharp enough that you nearly stumble. It’s only your years of training and the fact that you can flashstep that keeps you upright.

You’re so fucking stupid.

Or, cool. All cool. Everything’s fine. Everything’s chill. You’re being chased by a werewolf and everything’s totally fucking awesome. This is what you signed up for. You knew this was a possibility when you designed to bring the fight to the Condesce’s doorstep, but you thought you’d at least get a few good hits in before you started scrambling around like a rat in a maze.

You can feel Rose’s disapproval in the far off reaches of your soul, like she’s just right there, frowning at you. Your pesterchum has blown up in the past few hours. You kind of just… turned that off. No need to freak anyone out with your untimely demise. Everything’s good. Everything’s awesome.

Heavy panting to your left makes you turn right, up a fire escape in one two three jumps without even thinking about it. 

“You run fast!” you hear from the girl behind you, her voice down a blessed few stories. 

“Sure do,” you respond, and hop to the next roof to see if you can’t find a place for a good old fashioned ambush. No shame in that, especially not when you hear her clanging up the stairs. Her claws are loud as hell against the metal and you’re hoping, praying, and begging that you can get the jump on her for just a second as you sidle behind a rich bitch roof hedge. You know, exactly like the kind that’s on top of your own suite. 

Being rich sure does have its perks. The ability to jump out from behind a bunch of leaves and slash at a dog girl is just one of many, many delights. She barks in surprise when your blade hits her forearms (damn, she’s got a fast guard) and you… don’t cut nearly as deep as you were expecting to. Her fur is shaggy and dark and thick, and her skin must be industrial fucking steel, because you don’t cut down to the bone or anything.

She jumps back, baring her teeth at you. “Rude!”

“You’re the one tryin’ to chase me down! Maybe you oughta just go back to your witch friend, pack up, get the fuck outta town. You’re obviously not as good as a huntress as the batterbitch and what’s-her-name in red seem to think you are. Might as well give up the ghost, huh?” There’s black fur and a little blood on your blade, but seriously. You thought you would’ve at least cut her up good or something. “Head back home, Lassie, stop chasin’ this choice piece of ass.”

“Oh my god,” says Lassie, “You talk so much. I thought it was just for interviews, but no. Wow. You just really do that!” She shakes out her arms, crouches low to the ground, flashes her pearly whites at you in something that’s closer to a grin. “It’s kinda cute! But I think you should probably pay more attention to what’s going on!”

“Obviously.” Holy shit that voice is behind you, and it’s that same red witch from before. You wheel around, think better of it, and leap the fuck out of dodge.

You try to, anyway, but you find your feet just. Stuck. You look down, and. Oh, hell. The red witch isn’t a red witch, she’s just wearing a ridiculous (kind of hot) red skirt suit. She must be a green witch, because vines from the hedge curled around your ankles while you were too busy talking to Lassie to notice. They were loose at first. Probably how you didn’t notice.

Now they’re tightened like cute little baby nooses. You can feel your lifespan dwindling into single digits, and those digits ain’t years. Not even months.

“Mr. Strider,” says red-but-not-Red, her voice decidedly prim. The two women circle around you until Lassie’s at your back and Red’s all up in your business. 

Ah. Wait a moment.

You know who Red is.

“Crocker,” you reply. “Fancy meetin’ you here. Didn’t know your mom sent you out on murder missions.” 

Jane goddamn Crocker, young heiress to the batterwitch’s entire industry. She’s a full decade and change younger than you, and somehow more intimidating by far. You’re a bigshot in Hollywood circles, but she’s princess of the food world, and honestly? Both of you are basically celebrities. 

The problem, of course: she’s a witch, and you’re not.

“This was only supposed to be a warning,” she sniffs, and her disdain is palpable. You haven’t seen this much concentrated ‘you’re lower than a scuff on my boot’ since you were a newbie screenwriter stepping on highbrow toes. “But then you attacked us. What are we supposed to do now?”

“Bust his face in and make sausages out of his guts?” Lassie pipes in, helpfully.

Jane purses her lips. “No, Jade. I like your enthusiasm, dear, but absolutely not.”

“Down, girl,” you agree.

“Hey!” Jade yaps at you. “No dog jokes. Not allowed. Only friends get to do that.”

“Oh, so I shouldn’t tell you Timmy fell down a well? Maybe toss you a ball, see if it’ll make you go fetch. You like scritches behind your ears? I won’t turn down a cute puppy like you, hey--”

Her growling starts to overpower your voice, and Jane puts a hand on her hip. “Maybe a little roughhousing wouldn’t hurt.”

Obviously, your mouth gets you a good punch to the gut. You try to put a sword through Jade as she gets close, but vines snake up and grab your wrist so hard you hear the bones creak. Right. You tried. You wheeze as the wind gets knocked right out of you instead. Trying is cool and good but now you’re this close to a werewolf tearing out your liver and eating it whole.

Maybe she should. It’d get her pretty liquored up, given how you’d taken a shot or two for some liquid courage. Everyone knows a little apple-flavored vodka never hurt anyone about to go into a fight for his life. And hey, if she’s liquored up, she’ll be easier to punt off a building. You’ll also be bleeding out, and there’s still the whole thing with Jane Crocker, exceptionally powerful young witch… 

Your fingers tighten on the hilt of your sword, even though your circulation is lacking at the moment. “So it’s that kind of shakedown,” you hack out, and then Jade smacks you with her rough-padded hand, claws and all. Yeah, that’s going to leave a mark, and it has the added bonus of knocking your shades right off your face. Your vision unfocuses immediately, and you can’t see the witchy magic radiating off of Jane at all anymore. 

Fuck. This just got a whole lot harder, and it was already erect as fuck. 

“Watch the goods, damn,” you say instead of anything that would betray what you’re actually feeling.

“Jade,” Jane says, and Jade backs off with another flash of bright, awful teeth. Jane steps in close to inspect the mark on your face. You hear rather than see the heel of her shoe making a spiderweb on the lens of your sunglasses. Probably bending the frames, too. Goddammit. All those good magicks just seeping right on out. 

She touches her fingers to your chin and tilts your head to the side, and even though you’re a good chunk of change taller than her, you’re pretty sure she could bust your balls hard enough to make them explode. Her nails, well-manicured and stark white, trace across Jade’s claw marks with careful consideration. She wipes a bead of blood off your cheek. “Red really is your color,” she acknowledges. “You’re sure you won’t join us? We could use someone with your sensibilities. Very smart use of propaganda in those movies you make.”

“Whoa, hey, propaganda? Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff ain’t propaganda. They’re two outrageously hilarious dudes doin’ outrageously hilarious shit. The ironies, man, they’re off the charts. Literally. My movies are so high on the boards that they’re shootin’ through the roof. Don’t talk to me about propaganda.”

Jane rolls her eyes behind her thick lenses. “Please.”

“Puh-lease!” Jade agrees.

“The art of getting someone to watch that ridiculous bullhonkey is absolutely propaganda.” 

Actually, forget being scared. You’ve got to defend your honor here. SBaHJ is a pile of shit and it’s your baby, it’s the best pile of shit anyone has ever made, you are the top fucking dog of this industry. “Ex-fucking-scuse you, cake princess--”

“Nope!” Jade barks. “Nuh-uh. I don’t wanna listen to another one of those. You talk soooo much. I should just eat you. Can I just eat him?”

“Not yet.” 

“I can’t believe how unfun you’re being right now.”

“Mother wouldn’t like it much if you broke a new toy right away.”

“I’m not going to break him,” Jade whines in a voice that does nothing to fill you with confidence. “Just chew on him a little.”

“New toy?” Right, there’s your voice. You’re not gonna let these two crazy broads talk right over you. You’re Dave motherfucking Strider, no one can talk more of a blue streak than you. “Hey, no, no bueno, we don’t fuck with that, I’m no toy. You can’t tame this horse, alright, no breaking anything. Some folks might be able to get a collar on me for a while but that’s only if you’re bein’ nice.”

You immediately regret saying that last bit, because both girls regard you with deeper interest. “Fuck, no, put those eyebrows back down, that wasn’t an invitation. I’m not putting any collars on tonight. If anyone does, it should be Lassie--ow!”

Well, you probably deserve the slap Jane gives you.

You absolutely don’t deserve the way she grabs your tie and yanks you down to eye-level while you try not to choke.

Your face is red and raw, but she probably likes that. You’d bet most of your fortune on it, and then you’d use the last of your money to get the fuck out of town--or blast of the Condesce’s head. One of those two. Maybe if you leave enough money for both, you could head up to Rose’s…

Wow, you should be paying attention. Jane is saying something as you tune back in. “...nice in collars.”

Yeah, you don’t need the rest of that sentence to know where this is going. Your hand flexes around the hilt of your sword again, white-knuckling for all it’s worth. It isn’t worth much. “Lucky you don’t have a fuckin’ collar just sittin’ around on ya, then, huh?”

“Actually.”

“Wait, really?” Jade butts in. You were about to say the exact same thing.

Jane shrugs. “A good businesswoman is always prepared for opportunities that may come her way.” She’s so smug it’s physically painful to look at. You look at her anyway, defiant and swiping mentally at composure.

“Opportunities that include collaring someone? God, you batterwitches are fuckin’ weird. I heard there was some slavery going on there, but I didn’t know it was so literal. Collars.” Your snort is powerful. Gotta convey the force of your disbelief. Normally you also have to telegraph your eyerolls loud as hell, what with the shades and all, so the fact that you’re not wearing them probably makes it look like your eyes are about to roll out of your head. Good. They both know how fucking stupid (terrifying) you think this is.

They can see right through you.

Jane’s soft hand touches your throat, wraps around it and presses its palm into your Adam’s apple. If she wasn’t so intimidating, you’d say the gentle doughiness of her skin is worth a booty call. Instead, your heart rate picks up and Jade grins wide and wolfish.

“He’s scared! I can smell it. Oh my god, we have to do this now. We have to.”

Batterwitch the Second tilts her head, considering, and hums to herself. “You know, I think I agree.”

Jade pumps both furry, doggie fists in the air. “Yes!”

“Oh hell no.” You jerk against Jane’s vines and only find yourself more entangled. “Not today, ladies, this ass is off limits.”

“That ass is on limits all night!” Wow, this Jade girl sure is ridiculous. “Can I tear off his suit? I wanna tear off his suit.” Really ridiculous.

“Fuck no,” you say at the same time that Jane says, “Sure.”

Jane wins out, of course. “Fuck yes!” You aren’t happy with the fact that your suit is suddenly in the paws of a gigantic furry, especially because she immediately catches one of your lapels and drags her claws through it. She sure wasn’t kidding about tearing that fucker off. Next thing you know your shoulder is bare to open air and you’ve got another set of scratches across your collarbone. 

“Jesus shitting Christ what the fuck,” you snap. “This costs money.”

“You should be glad we’re not covering it in blood first!”

“It’s black.” Jane brushes a few scraps of fabric away from your skin, almost caressing your chest. “The blood wouldn’t show anyway. You know that.”

All the hair on the back of your neck stands up as Jade skirts around behind you to claw the other half of your richass suit jacket off. More red scrapes against your skin to add to the count. Three hands’ worth, twelve lines, and you’re probably going to end up with another hundred before the night is out. Werewolves, man. Fucking werewolves. They’re about to make you a statistic.

So now you’re shirtless in front of two hot chicks on a highrise rooftop. The only thing that’s missing is the ecstasy and a shot of vodka to drink out of someone’s bellybutton.

Also, enthusiastic consent. That one too. That one’s important. 

Jane’s hand rests, gentle as anything, over your heart. “If you won’t come join us,” she says, “maybe this will help convince you.”

“That’s a negative, not gonna happ--” your voice splits into a squeak when claws trail down along your spine. They go all the way down past the small of your back, right into ass town. People aren’t supposed to visit ass town without permission, and yours isn’t very big anyway. Not that Jade’s not trying her best to grope you anyway, because of course she is. “Hey!”

You jolt forward some, but the vines only tighten and the werewolf only slips her fingers under your belt.

And then tears it right in half.

Great.

Cool.

Everything’s cool. You’re chill. You’re fine. You’re just in your briefs now as your slacks pool around your ankles, but you’re fine. 

“Oh my god, Jane, he doesn’t have an ass! There’s just no ass here!” She takes a cheek in either hand and squishes. 

Nope.

You’re not fine.

“Fuck off!” You jerk in place again, struggling in earnest. Striders aren’t supposed to do struggling, especially not Dave Strider, but suddenly you don’t care about any of that. Suddenly you’re mostly naked on the roof and a girl is using her big meaty claws to squeeze your bony non-existent ass. You’re taller than both of them and you feel about an inch high. “Those aren’t your fuckin’ goods, bitch, don’t touch ‘em.”

She pokes your ass with her claws. “I think I hit a sore spot. Aww, don’t worry, you’re still cute. Super edible.”

“That sounds way too literal comin’ from you and just stop it, alright, I’m not about this shit. You’re not gonna get me battin’ for your team either way, so let’s just not and say we didn’t. Yeah? Yeah.”

Jane starts unbuttoning her jacket in response. 

“Nope. Nope nope nope you put that right back on, woman, if you think you’re gonna get me with tits you’re barking up the wrong tree.” Lies, lies, lies. 

“What’d I just say about dog jokes?” A big, fuzzy hand claps over your mouth. The pad is rough and oh god she’s so close to your back and she’s kind of warm in a good way, actually. She’s just so… cuddly. If she didn’t have enough teeth to bite your head off you really would just want to settle down and give her some good ole pets.

That wasn’t even directed at you, you want to say. Goddammit don’t cut off one of the only ways I have left to communicate with the world, you want to say. Where the fuck is Rose, you want to say. 

Well, you wouldn’t say that last one. You’d just like her to be here so she can pull you out of this situation with her ridiculous magicks and a cutting remark, but no. She’s up in New York and you’re down in Texas. No Rose to save you now. Just some cryptic advice about not resisting and the likelihood of your untimely demise. You weigh your options. If you’re going to die, you could get laid one last time, and it’d be a pretty radical lay. Heiress to the Crocker throne and a big bad wolf, both at the same time. Guys would kill to go out like this. Rose herself said not to resist.

And yet. Your palms are sweaty, you’re having trouble breathing in ways that aren’t just to do with fur in your nose, and all your fight or flight instincts are screaming to get the fuck out. You’re prey, here, just a mundane human to a witch and a wolf.

The witch shrugs out of her jacket and starts unbuttoning her blouse, too. She’s wearing a very nice lacy bra that you’d usually appreciate with much more gusto. It’s blue. Bizarrely, you wish it were purple. You shove that directly out of your brain and into the box where it belongs. Purple is just comforting. It’s a comforting color. Instead you’ve got red and blue and black and green and heavy, excited panting in your ear.

Jane’s shirt slips off, and then she unsnaps her bra, and holy shit. She’s just. Got the hugest fucking rack, okay. That’s an ample bounty right there. You’re distracted enough to drop your sword, and yes, there’s a euphemism in there somewhere. A smile curves across her lips, and that’s just as pretty as her boobs. She’s got buck teeth, sure, but it’s honestly to die for.

You hope that’s not an indicator for the rest of your night.

A padded hand touches your hip--for all that your heart is about to flip off the handle out of your chest, you barely jump. Jane’s distracting. She’s incredibly soft and distracting, and she steps closer. Closer. Close enough to press against you, skin on skin, about as hot as Jade behind you. 

Jade releases your face, but you don’t quite have the presence of mind to pick back up where you left off. “Uh,” you say instead.

“Shhh,” Jane replies. “No need to talk, Mr. Strider. Just feel for a while.”

Feel. Okay. You can feel.

You feel hot drool along your shoulder. You feel the way Jane tugs you down to kiss you, firm and unyielding. You feel hard nipples on your chest, a human hand on your free hip, thick plush fur rolling across your back teeth against the juncture of your neck tongue on tongue a thigh between your knees and oh fuck you have a boner. You have the biggest boner known to mankind. You have a boner so big that Jane pulls back to smile at you, smug, and squeeze your hip.

“Uh,” you say again, your lips slick with spit. “This is bad and you should both feel bad.”

“Nope,” Jade replies, and bites you in the throat. Not hard. Not murder-level biting. But Jesus Christ do you seize up for a minute. God, Grandma, what big teeth she fucking has. She lets you sweat it out, lets you be rigid under her jaws, and only lets you go when beads of sweat drip from your temples.

Jane laughs, a ‘hoo hoo hoo’ sound that would be ridiculous in any context except the one where you’re pretty sure you’re going to end up dead. “Lie down,” she tells you, but you end up getting pulled down by vines, so. It really doesn’t matter what you say, does it? 

Jade grumbles in her chest as she lurches out of the way, letting you fall to the tiled cement. Ow. Yeah. That might be a concussion. 

There’s a rustle of fabric that you have to work on focusing your eyes to understand, and even then it’s kind of blurry. Right, Jane just dropped her skirt. That’s neat. She’s wearing cute underwear that match her bra, blue and lace and polka dots, but she steps out of those too. A vine creeps up to jerk down your briefs (which are a totally practical bright red), and she settles down on your thighs.

She’s heavy, but nothing you can’t handle. Warm, too, which is a welcome contrast to the cement that you are now lying on. Even in Texas, the nights can be cold, and when you’re buck naked fifty stories in the air, well. Look, you’re chilly. 

Jane traces a finger across your cock, murmuring something you don’t quite understand, and then she scoots forward. Magic. It’s probably magic. Your dick is all tingly, and you make to complain before Jade plops down next to you and gives you a Look. ‘Just try me,’ that look says. ‘I’ll find something to shove in your mouth.’

Possibly a dick. You’re pretty sure she has a dick, which is fine. You’re cool with that! You’re not some bigoted asshole. You know what’s what. You’re totally chill.

The dick would be less fine if she fucks you dry. You really hope she doesn’t decide to do that. 

Nothing matters quite so much when Jane rubs her wet slit against you. This really shouldn’t feel good. Boy does it, though, and she seems disinclined to stop. You haven’t had good sex in ages. Maybe that’s why your whole body shudders when she finally sinks down onto you with a little gasp that makes you even hotter. She’s so slick and warm that you melt right off, groaning under your breath, and Jade laughs at you.

“Well, Mr. Strider,” Jane says in a breathy voice that makes your guts broil. “If this doesn’t convince you, I’m not sure what will.”

She starts bouncing, all slapping damp skin, but she doesn’t work hard enough to actually get some sort of thrusting thing going. Or, maybe she just doesn’t give a shit, as long as she’s having fun.

She is having fun, too. Her voice starts to raise in airy moans, and she clenches around you intermittently. She’s just using you as a means to an end. God, that shouldn’t be hot. That shouldn’t be hot at all. You’re a very weak man, now that you think about it. 

All her weight shifts as she leans down to plant her hands on your chest for leverage--the breath whooshes right out of you. Jade laughs again, but it’s more rough now. She’s jerking off, you realize. A big fucking wolf girl is jerking off right next to you while an heiress uses you like a suction cup dildo. Wow, your life is batshit. At least it’s a life. You think Rose was right about the not resisting bit.

Oh, god, Rose. You hope she’s not using her Sight right now.

...But what if she is?

What if she Sees you, sweating and swearing under your breath while two girls work you over, eyes rolled back in your head and nails scraped across the ground?

“Ffffuck,” you groan, trying to shove the thought out of your head. Bad and wrong, wrong and bad. You can’t help the twitching, though, can’t help the way your back arches, the way a blush spreads all the way from your cheeks to your collarbones. You wish you could grab Jane’s hips. You wish she would kiss you stupid. Anything to distract yourself from the sudden incest train. “Please, holy shit, fuck.”

Jane huffs, her voice too pitchy to be intimidating anymore. “Please what?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know--holy shit, just--fuck me harder.”

“Ohhh my god, that’s hot,” Jade pants to your side. 

“Oh, Mr. Strider,” Jane purrs. “We can do this all night.”

You are so incredibly fucked.


End file.
